


Not Another High School AU

by otatop



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Jock Derek, M/M, Nerd Stiles, Sexual Confusion, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-20
Updated: 2015-09-20
Packaged: 2018-04-22 15:13:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,710
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4840238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otatop/pseuds/otatop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You... can probably figure everything out by the title...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Another High School AU

It started at Lydia Martin’s Start of the Year Party.

Or maybe that’s where it ended- it certainly felt like the end as Stiles watched Derek accept the shot and danced with the pretty blonde, leaning down so she could shout to him over the thumping base. And _smiling_. Derek didn’t even _like_ drinking- They’d _bonded_ over it. Yet here he was, meeting Stiles’ wide eyes over the drink, you know, how it happens in the movies. Person A catches Person B in a compromising position, Person B chases after Person A to explain themselves.

Derek didn’t chase after Stiles; he followed the blonde girl out onto the dance floor.

He _hated_ dancing.

The only one to notice Stiles leave was Scott, who texted him asking if he was ok. (And yea, maybe it would have been nice to have Scott’s company on the misty-eyed drive home, but the guy totally had a free pass when Allison Argent had wanted all of his attention.)

Whatever. Stiles didn’t know why he even bothered. It would always be the same.

 

***

 

It started at Lydia Martin’s End of the Year Party. Stiles couldn’t _believe_ he was here. Nobodies like him never got invited to these kinds of things- unless their best friend beats the odds and wins the lacrosse final to end all lacrosse finals. The two of them had figured that his new-found popularity would allow Stiles, weird-o male cheerleader wannabe extraordinaire, an in. They’d been _so_ right. Lydia had looked him in the eyes and everything before stepping away and reminding them to try the punch. Scott went straight for it. Stiles held off. He’d never been big on drinking and he was driving them back to Scott’s later (his mom was working the night shift, _sweet_ ). Now, being the Sheriff’s son didn’t mean he was a nark, but he did have a healthy respect for road safety. Law? No. Safety? Yes.

The party really was everything it was cracked up to be- extravagant, loud, and hot. Some people were in the pool to escape the heat. Others were contributing to it by dancing around each other in close-nit groups. Stiles avoided both and watched as Scott got whisked away.

It was only alright after that. It wasn’t like their school was black and white in cool/uncool so there were plenty of people for him to talk to. Stiles made his rounds and let Scott bask in his new fame. The guy was due to catch a break. Stiles didn’t mind; it was cool enough being let in.

Two hours of it, though… of drunk people in a hot, sweaty house with no sign of Scott… yea, it lost its novelty.

Stiles pulled out his phone, prepared to text Scott only to find his best friend had already sent him a message that he was fine for the night and didn’t need a right home. _Well_ then. That just saved him the trouble of wandering the house like an idiot. Given his luck that would have meant a run-in with Jackson and _no thank you_. He left through the front door, instantly thankful for the cool, quiet air that the pool yard hadn’t been able to offer. It was empty out there, too. Well… mostly empty.

“Stiles?”

He spun on his heel faster than was probably safe. He knew that voice. That voice _did things_ to him. He hadn’t noticed Derek siting on the porch steps, his knees drawn up and head resting on the railing. The basketball captain looked worse for wear but a bright smile was spreading across his face.

“Heeey there big guy,” Stiles said gently. Derek looked _wasted_ and far too happy to see someone like Stiles.

“I w’sn’t sure y’d still be here.”

That was… wait, what?

“Did you… need the summer reading list or something?” That was the only reason Beacon Hills’ Golden Boy Derek Hale would want to see resident ADD Social Reject Gymnast-Junkie Stiles Stilinski. (Yea, the movies _lied_ ; the _mathletes_ were above him on the high school food chain).

Derek squinted up at Stiles.

“Y’r so funny,” he said in a voice that should have sounded sarcastic but came out stone cold serious.

“I’ve been known to crack a joke or two,” Stiles indulged because there probably wasn’t ever going to be an opportunity for him to talk to Derek again.

Derek stood up and immediately listed forward. Luckily for him, Stiles spent almost every afternoon catching falling people and was able to stop the larger boy from hitting the ground. Not so luckily, Stiles was usually catching girls _quite_ a bit smaller. In his effort to keep them both upright, he was pretty sure he’d pulled something. It was worth it for the grateful look on Derek’s face when he righted himself, hands coming up to clutch at Stiles’ shoulders.

“And y’r so _shtrong_. I a’ways knew y’d be _shtrong_. Always… always _throwing_ people in th’ air. ‘Mazing…”

God, he was going to _hate_ Stiles after this, fueled by pure embarrassment. And Stiles could handle Derek not speaking to him; he couldn’t handle Derek actively hating him. It just… fuck it would just hurt way too much.

“Do you have someone who can give you a ride home?”

There was a long, drawn out moment where Derek just looked at him, his expression drifting slowly from drunken contentment to wasted misery. Stiles could swear he saw the guy’s heart breaking right on his face.

“I… I can’t go home like this. I can’t… Stiles _I can’t_. ‘f I get caught dr’nk they’ll take away my _collard ship_. ‘Ll nev’ get into college! What am I… what… _fuck_!”

“Alright, alright, don’t panic. C’mon. My car’s over here.”

Wide-eyed and wondering, Derek followed Stiles along like a duckling, his hands clutching at the back of Stiles’ shirt to keep himself walking straight. He fell into the front seat of the Jeep easily, but Stiles had to help buckle him in. And boy, if that wasn’t an experience he would never forget- leaning over him, so distracted by Derek landing nose first against his hair that it took him nearly a full minute just to get the seatbelt to click.

“Mom’s gun kill me, Stiles,” Derek whined, forehead resting on the window of his door.

“Not if she doesn’t find out,” Stiles said, phone already dialing home. His dad picked up on the third ring.

“This better not have anything to do with that party I don’t know about,” The Sheriff said instead of a greeting. Stiles couldn’t help but grin fondly.

“Inadvertently. I’m bringing home a friend who got into a bad situation and I was _hoping_ you’d be a totally cool dad and not snoop around and be all cop-dad.”

“I am always cop-dad.”

“Yea _I know_ but this is a situation that just needs a dad-dad and a hidden identity. Is that something we can do or do I have to go to Scott’s? His mom isn’t home and I’d kinda like at least some kind of parental figure around.”

The Sheriff sighed, but it was one that had Stiles pumping his fist and giving Derek (who was glazed in the eyes) a thumbs up.                                                                                                                                                                        

“First you tell me what kind of situation this friend has gotten into.

“He accidentally got drunk,” Stiles said mostly honestly. Derek’s hazy expression turned scandalous as he realized that Stiles had just told _the town Sheriff_ that he was _underage and drunk_. Stiles patted his leg and hoped it conveyed how not screwed they were.

“Accidentally? You expect me to believe that bullsh-”

“What? Hey! It’s true! He’s like me, dad, he didn’t want to drink anything! He didn’t know what was in this punch- people were saying they couldn’t taste any alcohol in it but you know _that’s_ the real bullshit. I promise dad, he really didn’t mean to and now he’s wasted and scared and I just want to give him someplace safe.”

“Aw, hell, kid, who raised you so well?” The Sheriff chuckled a little at his own joke. “Bring him by your room and then come talk to me. This isn’t over.”

“Yessir.” He hung up.

“You… you…” Derek reached down and snatched up the hand Stiles hadn’t removed from his leg in a jerky motion.

“Yea, I know he’s the Sheriff but he’s really chill if he thinks I’m doing the right thing al-”

“Yu lied t’ y’r dad. F’r me?”

Stiles looked down at their still linked hands and realized it was a sign of affection, not a forgotten effort to stop the contact. He squeezed back once before pulling away and starting the car.

“Yea,” he said. Because to him, it really was that simple.

*

By the time Stiles pulled up to his house, Derek was very nearly asleep slumped against his window and breathing in heavy, measured lengths as if staving off getting sick. Stiles hopped out and opened the passenger side door just in time for Derek to lean over and empty his stomach on the pavement… and one of Stiles’ shoes.

“Awesome,” he intoned as he tried to work around the puddle and help Derek out.

“I feel better now,” Derek said, one arm slung around Stiles’ shoulders and the other holding a hand up in front of his mouth. “Don’ smell my breath.”

“Not planning on it,” Stiles huffed. He felt better, though, knowing that Derek had the sense of mind to be self-conscious of that. Maybe his athletic metabolism was working through the alcohol.

“Are you sure your dad won’t see me?” Derek asked as Stiles single handedly opened the front door and maneuvered them inside. At the top of the steps, he could see the shadow of his dad’s pacing feet underneath his own bedroom door.

“I’m sure, dude. Just because he’s the Sheriff doesn’t mean he’s not a reasonable dad. Now be quiet or he’ll be able to figure out who you are.”

The hand over Derek’s mouth clamped down instead of just hovering to block the smell. He only stumbled a little on the stairs but collapsed face first into Stiles’ bed as soon as they made it into his bedroom.

“Ugh, c’mon dude, help me out here.” Stiles pulled off Derek’s sneakers and socks and then tugged at the hem of his jeans. “You don’t want to sleep in these, man. My house is like a furnace in the summer and I’m pretty sure sleeping in jeans is the actual worst.”

Derek rolled over with a good bit of effort and pushed at the edge of his pants.

“Th’ button rubbed when they made me dance,” he murmured, eyes closed. “I hate dancing. Hate drinking.”

He sounded so sad that Stiles took pity on him and- quick as he could- unbuttoned his jeans. Not that he had no interest in getting up close and personal with Derek Hale’s junk, but he’d much rather them both be fully sober for that.

“Why do it, then?” Stiles managed to add his pants to the pile and moved to help him with his shirt when he noticed a bit of sick near the shoulder. Derek opened his eyes for this part, even sat up a little to help but grabbed Stiles’ wrist before he could move away.

“Liquid c’rage, right?”

“Not much use if you drink too much.”

“I only had two. Bu’ I think they were shtronger than Jacks’n said an’ _I don’ drink_ an’… an’ then I was gonna do th’ thing but Er’ca made me dance an’ I hate it an’ I ruined _everything_. Jus’… Jus’ wan’ed t’ tell you… Jus’ wan’ed t’ fin’lly’ tell you…”

Stiles stopped trying to find a way to pull himself free, stilled where he was kneeling over Derek. His heart jumped into his throat but he stomped it down. No. Not possible.

But Derek’s thumb was stroking back and forth across the skin of his wrist. Stiles swallowed hard.

“Tell me what?” he whispered, scared of breaking the atmosphere, afraid he was dreaming.

Derek smiled up at him, blinding and so stupidly, drunkenly happy.

“Tha’ yer beautiful.”

And then promptly passed out. It was probably for the better, too, because Stiles was dangerously close to kissing him and there was no way he was kissing a drunk Derek, let alone an unconscious one.

He pulled one sheet up around Derek’s armpits and brought his waste basket over to the side of the bed. He didn’t think there’d be an issue, but then again Derek had puked after allegedly only having two drinks (can’t blame the guy for not liking alcohol if _that’s_ how he reacts to it). He tip-toed out of the room, cheeks hurting from how wide his smile was. He didn’t care if Derek resented or didn’t remember it in the morning. Alcohol made people more honest, didn’t it?

 _Beautiful_.

As Stiles turned from gently pulling his door closed, he nearly shrieked to see the Sheriff there with a glass of water and two pills. Wordlessly, he handed them over and Stiles snuck back in to put them on his nightstand. When he came back out a second time, his dad motioned with one finger for him to come to his room.

“Do you know many times I’ve heard of someone accidentally getting drunk?” He started, eyes those of cop-dad now that their guest was settled. Stiles rolled his whole upper body.

“Dad, I know I haven’t given you a lot of reasons to trust me but I _promise_ ­-”

The Sheriff cut him off with a finger and a hand on his shoulder. “You did a good thing tonight. I’m proud that you recognized that it doesn’t just happen to women.”

That made Stiles rear back, surprised. He looked over his shoulder towards his bedroom with a furrowed brow and thought of Derek’s adamancy that didn’t like drinking and how he hadn’t realized how strong the drinks were- drinks that came from an asshole who should know well enough how much alcohol his friend was used to consuming. He hadn’t… thought about it like that, about what would have happened to Derek if Stiles hadn’t taken him home. He cringed- he was familiar enough with the cruelty of high schoolers.

“Better me than someone else, huh?” he said with a little awe. The Sheriff clapped him on the back and nudged him towards the queen bed in the middle of the room. Stiles was more than happy to strip down to his boxers and crawl under the sheet- parent beds were just _better_.

*

The sound of the toilet flushing woke him up. Stiles stretched out, star-fished across the large bed, a movement that was usually pleasing but this time sent a spike of pain through his back. The distant memory of catching a falling basketball player echoed through his sleep-addled head. Fuck, it’s a good thing he didn’t have practice for the next month. After how hard he worked to be on the squad (read: begged, bribed, and flaunted his back hand springs) there was no way was he giving up his place because of a pulled muscle- it was the only thing he had going for him (scholarships, that is). Why were basketball players so _heavy_?

And… oh, right. Speaking of basketball players, he had one sleeping in his room. In his bed. In nothing but boxer briefs. A basketball player on whom Stiles had a _massive_ crush. A basketball player who had called Stiles _beautiful_ (shut up that he was drunk, it totally counted).

If the one and only hangover Stiles ever had was anything to go by, Derek was going to feel like absolute shit when he woke up and in need of a huge greasy breakfast. Stiles rolled around in the bed some more, figuring out how badly his back was hurt. It wasn’t until he tried to stand that it was really a problem. Awesome. Guess he’ll just have to spend an entire month on the couch playing video games. The tragedy. The horrors. The Cheetos. Which reminded him, he had to catch his dad before he left for work to ask him to pick up some groceries on the way home.

Hobbling across the room, Stiles hurried as fast as his hurt little body would allow, out the bedroom door-

\- And straight into a naked chest.

Stiles erupted into swears, partly because of the shock of pain in his back, partly because of surprise, and mostly because of the eyeful of beautiful pecs and sleepy Derek Hale’s floppy black hair.

“Whoa, there,” Derek said, voice thick and raspy with sleep as he caught Stiles by the shoulders. Stiles blinked at the gust of mint strong enough to feel like a smack in the face.

“Did you drink our mouth wash or something?” He asked, wincing when he realized how unfriendly he sounded. But Derek just chuckled softly, hands coming down to curl around Stiles’ elbows. He stood frozen, too many fantasies coming to mind and too many voices telling him not to get his hopes up. Derek was just a nice guy (like, an _actual_ nice person).

“Figured it was safe since you have the alcohol free kind. And… thanks. For everything.” He spoke so sincerely, looking him dead in the eye until Stiles had to force himself to look away, face heating.

“It was nothing, really. How are… I mean, you were pretty fucked up man; do you feel ok?”

Derek took a step back and rubbed self-consciously at the back of his head. Stiles found himself wanting to step forward, wanting to comfort him and suck the words back into his mouth, wanted to keep Derek his usual confident self.

“Aside from being horribly embarrassed? I feel pretty… fine. I’m fine.”

“Well if you want to claim you don’t remember what happened, I’ll pretend I don’t either. I mean, I know I’m not-”

“I don’t want to forget,” Derek interrupted, eyes wide and worried and face flushing, as if he hadn’t meant to let the thought out. “I remember everything I did… and said…. And… I meant it.”

For all of a minute, Stiles felt himself gaping like a fish. The comments, the adoring looks, the arm touching. He knew what he _wanted_ it to mean, what one interpretation of the actions was.

“But you don’t… you never talk to me,” he said, whisper quiet and already embarrassed that he’d assumed wrong. His unusual bout of insecurity seemed to only encourage Derek, who brought his hand forward again, ran his fingers over the bones of Stiles’ wrist.

“Doesn’t mean I don’t want to start.”

The atmosphere froze around them, the particles of the air halting their lazy paths as if the slightest disturbance would break the tension. Derek seemed to be thinking hard on something, the fingers on his wrist stilled in a clench, eyes cast downward but not away from Stiles’ face. In a split second, in a breeze of peppermint breath, he had the thought _he’s staring at my lips_ before Derek broke free of his internal battle and slammed their mouths together in a bruising kiss. It was hard; a mess of lips and noses hitting cheeks and teeth, but it was, unmistakably, a kiss. Stiles surged forward into it, not caring how closely they were already pressed together, how Derek had pulled Stiles in by the wrist, by the back of his head. He wanted closer, wanted their bare chests to touch and stick, tacky from the heat of his too-hot house. Derek slid his hand from Stiles’ wrist to his back, pulling them impossibly closer and… and…

Stiles pulled back, sucking in a lungful of air through his teeth, body seizing up in pain.

“I can’t, I can’t- _fuck_.”

Derek pulled his hands back like he’d been burned, eyes shocked and embarrassed. “I’m sorry. Sorry. I should have asked. Shit, I didn’t mean to just attack you like that. I’m sorry,” he chanted. Stiles waved one of his hands around uselessly as he tried to grab at his own lower back.

“No, no! I didn’t mean you! I mean, you can- any time, with the,” he flung his finger back and forth between their faces. “That’s not why I- Yesterday, I pulled something in my back trying to catch someone who was _definitely_ not a ninety pound girl. Not that I wouldn’t do it again if it meant-” He waved his finger around again. Derek tried and failed to hide a bashful smile. Some of the tension drained from his shoulders and face and he- gently, gently- pulled Stiles in close with hand on his neck.

“Why don’t we get dressed, pick up some god awful heart-attack breakfast, and head over to my gloriously air-conditioned house where we can… _hang out_ uninterrupted in the finished basement. The couch pulls out. You should probably stay horizontal for a little while and keep the pressure off your back.”

“Hang out horizontal, huh? That what the cool kids are calling it these days?”

Derek nudged Stiles’ cheek with his nose playfully. Just like that. Like it was totally normal for them to be so affectionate. “ _Just_ hanging out. Your house is a sauna and I want to touch you without feeling like I smell rancid.”

All Stiles could bring himself to do was nod eagerly. He didn’t dare open his mouth and question what the hell was going on, didn’t want to comment or make a stupid remark that had Derek changing his mind.

 

Derek’s house was, in fact, blessedly air conditioned with a pull out couch and a huge television in a chilly finished basement that nobody used.

The rule was that Derek could have anyone sleep over as long as they stayed in a public area of the house. The unspoken rule was that the family room on the ground floor was way better than the old pull out couch and dated television that were nestled behind the stairs of the basement. It was _technically_ public space, the other half of the basement was a game room and there was no door, and nobody split hairs about the two of them sleeping down there all the time.

Just sleeping.

Totally. Just…Sleeping.

The lumpy mattress dipped under the weight of Derek as he tried to sneak back under the sheets and plaster himself around Stiles. “Hey,” he whispered, arm coming around Stiles’ waist and pulling them flush together, Stiles half under Derek and pleasantly warmer than he had been a minute ago.

“Y’get coffee?” Stiles slurred to the air, not bothering to open his eyes and accept that it was morning. “S’nice.”

“You’re nice,” Derek countered and they both snorted because, honestly, neither of them were very nice. “Let’s stay in bed all day. Mom’s taking my sister’s back to school shopping and dad’s helping uncle Peter fix his lawn mower so we’re gonna have the house to ourselves. All day.” He said the last words lowly against Stiles’ ear, nosing at the hinge of his jaw. Stiles smiled sleepily and tilted his head to allow better access.

“Not all that different from what we usually do,” he argued lamely. He knew what Derek was suggesting, knew he didn’t mean lazing around on the pull out couch and playing video games. And it sounded… it sounded _really_ pleasant if he was being honest. Before Derek could fall for the bait, he turned his face, let his boyfriend do all the hard work and align their lips.

This had been there summer, video games and kissing and touching and laughing and Stiles never thought he could have this, never thought anything remotely positive would involve the words “boyfriend” and “high school” in the same sentence. Past experience… well, past experience was going to stay in the past where it belonged.

Derek tasted like toothpaste and coffee but Stiles was two months past being self-conscious about his morning breath. He curled into Derek, burrowing from the cold air until the basketball player smirked against him and rolled Stiles onto his back. This was new, for them at least- the careful grinding of Derek’s hips into his, the undeniable hardness between them. They’d been going relatively slow for a summer romance (or, at least, compared to what Stiles assumed normal summer romances were like) because Derek knew Stiles had reservations about… about…

“Too fast,” Derek said as he pulled away- a statement, not a question. His voice was resigned but his smile was sincere when Stiles opened his eyes for the first time that morning. He hadn’t realized he’d stopped kissing back when his thoughts had wandered.

“Sorry,” he said lamely. It only caused Derek’s brows to draw together and make Stiles smile- he hated when Stiles apologized for his hesitations.

“You know I don’t mind that you’re not ready for that, right?” Derek was looking at him with such earnest, sleepy eyes, his thumb rubbing comforting strokes back and forth across the apple of his cheek. Stiles gulped down any anxiety he had about opening up. He slid his hand over Derek’s for comfort.

“You’re saying that because you think I’m still a virgin, aren’t you?” At Derek’s surprised blink, Stiles had guessed right. “I’m not. I dated a guy last fall. We… I mean I… he was older, right? A college guy I met when I snuck into the Jungle.”

“Your dad was ok with that?” Derek asked, expression becoming worried even before the bad part of the story.

“He would have killed me for sneaking into the club but not about being with a college guy,” Stiles said with absolute certainty. “But this guy didn’t want to risk it, right? At least that’s what I thought because he never wanted to go out anywhere.”

“Like us?”

Stiles blinked. He leaned forward to press a sweet kiss to Derek’s lips. “We’re not avoiding going out, we’re choosing to stay in because your house is air conditioned and we can play video games in bed all day. Nah, this guy just didn’t want to be seen with me and I thought that was totally normal.”

“Did he do something to you?”

Stiles shook his head. “Nah. Not really I guess. I mean, I thought everything was fine because he had no problem having sex with another guy. But his best friend wasn’t so cool with it.” Stiles paused, brows furrowed together as he remembered that night, remembered his dad’s face when he’d come home. Derek was still and silent, his hand frozen on Stiles’ cheek. His eyes were downcast, dark. Stiles tried to laugh a little, tried to say, “He beat the shit outta me, dude,” in a way that would play the whole thing off like it meant nothing anymore. And it didn’t, really, because Derek was nice and perfect and his friends weren’t homophobic assholes. Well, Jackson was a giant asshole, but that’s where the similarities stopped.

By the look Derek was giving him, he wasn’t very successful at being nonchalant. His light eyes were shadowed and serious, the slant of his mouth suggesting he was more upset than angry. Stiles leaned in to kiss the unhappy expression away. He kissed him again and again and again trying to get Derek to smile. When that didn’t work, he clamped his lips around Derek’s entire mouth and blew hard.

Derek pulled away, sputtering and finally laughing.

And that was that. Neither of them talked about it for the rest of the summer. Instead, they wrestled for blankets and hid from the Hale siblings and ate dinners around a boisterous dinner table.

This, Stiles thought as he got ready for Lydia’s party, was what having a boyfriend was supposed to be like.

 

***

 

“Does Derek know you’re going?” Scott said as they weaved through Beacon Hills dark streets. Stiles scoffed.

“I think I mentioned something to him last week or something. And besides, it’s not like we tell each other _everything_ like someone I know.”

Scott blushed but nudged Stiles’ arm on the gear shift. “Well you text an awful lot, I wouldn’t be surprised if he knew every time you pooped.”

“Just because our relationship is close enough to have a competition for most poops in a week doesn’t mean we have to know each other’s whereabouts all the time. It’s not like I know what he’s doing tonight either.” They pulled down Lydia’s street and started searching for somewhere to park.

“Maybe he’ll be here, too.”

Another scoff. Stiles pulled over, turned off engine off, and faced his best friend. “Scotty, the first night we spent together all he did was moan about how much he hated drinking and dancing and puked on my shoes.”

“Good point,” Scott conceded. He patted down his shirt and fussed with his hair. Stiles thought it was hilarious how into Allison he was. “Alright, let’s do this.”

Ringing the doorbell to Lydia’s end of the summer party was eerily similar to their experience at her end of the school year party. Lydia, beautiful as always in her first dress of the night, gave them a once over before stepping aside. This time, however, she winked at Stiles.

Lydia Martin.

 _Winked_.

At Stiles Stilinski.

Stiles bobbed his head to the booming music as he made his way through the crowded entrance. He saw a couple of his cheerleaders milling about which was awesome for t hem.

Speaking of, Stiles craned his neck to see over the crowd when he spotted the familiar tuft of black hair that never stayed down. Derek’s hair was unmistakable, especially to Stiles for all the time he spent running his fingers through it. He pushed past Erica and Boyd making out against the closet door (seriously? Get it, Erica!).

It was Derek all right. Stiles opened his mouth to call out to him when he saw Jackson approach, two shots in hand. He paused to watch for a second, eager to see Jackson begin to get plastered.

Only, Jackson wasn’t doing both shots, just one. Derek took the proffered shot without hesitation and they both downed them together. Man, peer pressure, honestly. Stiles lifted his hand to get Derek’s attention. Kate beat him to the punch, latching her fingers into Derek’s belt and tugging. That would gain _anyone’s_ attention but it was pretty rude to do that to a guy who was taken.

Stiles huffed, fully prepared to dive right in and save the day. It was obvious to him by Derek’s expression that he was uncomfortable. His smile was forced and his movements on the dance floor were jerky and awkward. And yet, he didn’t pull himself away or push off Kate’s hands. He did, however, look up to avoid her too-close face, right at Stiles’ raised, judge-y eyebrows. He smiled and twitched his head to the side, a clear signal that Derek should escape and come find a dark corner with him.

Derek froze right in the middle of the dance floor, eyes wide with surprise. Scared. Caught. Kate looked over her shoulder, her gaze passing right over Stiles because he was inconsequential. He didn’t matter.

Stiles stopped mid step, lungs seeming to clench and suffocate his heart. It wasn’t like before. It _wasn’t_ because Derek was so much nicer to him and Derek never had any reservations about touching him or kissing him or holding him. Derek _liked him_.

No matter how hard Stiles thought it, it didn’t help. He couldn’t convince himself that it wasn’t like last time. Not when Derek was leaning down to speak directly into Kate’s ear, not when he allowed Kate to pull them flush together. It was just a _dance_ , Stiles, God don’t be so possessive and jealous. It was stupid. He was being stupid.

So call him stupid. Stiles turned and shoved his way to the front door.   


***

 _Heeeiyu Dtiles!_  
Hreu yuure so gr8  
grflemeshlep

Grflemeshlep? Really?

 _Hey_  
Stiles?  
Please come over  
Call me  
Can we talk?

Was Stiles mad? I mean, he didn’t care that Derek went to Lydia’s party without telling him because he wasn’t lying when he said they didn’t tell each other everything. Was it the drinking that bothered him? Was it the dancing? Was it Kate’s fingers tucked into his belt loops? Was it the fear in his eyes when he saw Stiles watching from across the room? Was it that Derek had been lying when he told Stiles how much he hated drinking and dancing? What else had he lied about?

Stiles didn’t know what he was feeling but it was definitely bad. Very bad. Confusing.

When he heard a car engine idling in his driveway, that bad confusing feeling grew. He knew who it was without peeking out the window.

At the door he could see Derek sitting in his car, hands wringing the steering wheel and eyes focused on them, expression hard. Stiles hated that part of him was happy that Derek had the gall to show up at his house.

“D’ya mind turning off your car?” He shouted out the cracked door. Derek’s head shot up, face tight and shocked. “Mrs. Nesbit gets on us about global warming every other day and I don’t you encouraging her.”

Derek turned off his car but didn’t get out yet. Stiles waited for him, let him stew in the growing heat of a black car under the summer sun. He had all day.

Whether it was the nerves or the heat, it was barely two minutes before Derek was slamming his way out of the Camaro. Two months ago Stiles would have called it aggression; now, he knows Derek’s anxious. Good. He should be. Stiles was.

It was like something out of a stupid romance movie. Two people at odds standing opposite each other in uncomfortable. All that was missing was some rain, maybe some crying. Although that last one could be arranged, and not by Stiles. Derek looked like he was about to break down any second. Stiles thought that it should make him feel better, but it didn’t. He just wanted to go in for a hug; he wanted to tell Derek that it was ok, everything would be ok. But he couldn’t. Because he didn’t know that it would be.

“I’m sorry,” Derek burst out, his body lurching like he was trying not to throw himself at Stiles.

“What are you sorry for?” Stiles asked.

“Wh…” Derek took in a shuddering breath. “What?”

“I need to know why. Why you’re sorry. Why you’re here. Why all of it.”

“I’m sorry for everything,” Derek started. Stiles’ derision overpowered the sympathy he had for the pain on Derek’s face. He snorted, threw up his hands, and stepped out onto the porch.

“That means nothing to me. You _know_ why I’m mad. You wouldn’t look so guilty if you didn’t get it.” Truthfully, Stiles still wasn’t able to put a finger on what he was feeling, only that it wasn’t jealousy. It wasn’t sadness. It pissed him off that he was so sure Derek knew him well enough to understand.

Derek took in a shaking breath, seeming to steel himself so that his shining eyes could meet Stiles’.

“I’m sorry I pretended not to be with you in front of everyone.”

That’s what it was.

All the anger Stiles had been building up crumbled when he heard the words drift through the still forest air.

Derek might not know everything about Stiles’ last boyfriend but he knew enough.

“Tell me why,” he ordered. “Tell me why you kissed me. Tell me why you invited me over every day and held me and told me how much you liked me.”

“Because I _do_ like you, Stiles! I do!”

“Just not enough? What, are you embarrassed by me? Golden Boy Derek Hale too good for cheerleader weirdo? Good enough to try and _fuck-_ ”

“Enough!” Derek shouted. Stiles was breathing heavily, face hot with anger and shame. He knew that wasn’t all true. Derek never pushed for anything Stiles was uncomfortable with. If anything, he held back more than necessary for his sake.

“You’re right to be mad. Because you’re right about some things. So please. _Please_ let me say something before you decide to break up with me.”

Stiles could only nod, defensive position relaxing just a little. At the very least, Derek thought they had a relationship that could be broken up at all.

“Two days ago I found out that I’m being scouted by a couple schools for an athletic scholarship.” Stiles cheered internally, then cut himself off. “I _need_ this, Stiles. My parents can’t afford to send both Laura and me to college at the same time. I _need_ this. But do you know what it’s like for a college to have a starting athlete be openly gay? It’s a big enough deal when they come out after playing for _years_ \- do you really think colleges aren’t going to it take into consideration before they even recruit me?”

Stiles gulped. He could only guess where this was going and it wasn’t good for either of them. Just because the people of Beacon Hills were tolerant, just because a lot of people and colleges were, didn’t mean that everything surrounding them was. It didn’t mean the press was.

“I went to the party to talk to Danny about it. He thought it was stupid for me to hide for any reason. But Danny…”

“Is the only child of rich parents.”

Derek gave a stiff nod.

“So you decided to try your hand at playing straight? And, what, you needed to get drunk to do it?”

“Stop making assumptions.”

“Then get to the point!”

“I’m not gay!” Derek yelled. Stiles felt himself completely freeze up, his skin growing red and hot. It was so eerily similar to the words Jonah had shouted right before his best friend beat the crap out of Stiles. Derek plowed on, ears burning and chest heaving. “I- I couldn’t say no to Kate. People don’t say _no_ to _Kate_. I panicked because I thought people would be more suspicious of me turning her down. And I swear, I _swear_ I don’t have feelings for her but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t find her attractive. And then I saw you and- and I don’t _know_ I’m so fucking confused Stiles because I don’t like Kate, I like _you_ but I liked the way she looked and- and-” The tears that had been brimming Derek’s eyes finally fell. He looked like he was about to crumple where he stood, lost and confused and scared about what he was feeling.

Stiles realized that this whole thing didn’t actually have anything to do with him. Numb but hopeful, Stiles took pity on him.

“Bisexuals are a thing, dumbass,” he said, voice thick. Derek stared at him.

“W-what?”

“Did you think I was a unicorn or something? Everyone and their mother knows about the crush I had on Lydia until sophomore year.”

Derek didn’t say anything, his breaths coming in too thick and measured. He probably couldn’t say anything if he wanted to so Stiles just watched his face for a minute.

The thing about Stiles was that he was a sarcastic asshole, but he wasn’t heartless. And to be honest, he was feeling a little emotional and vulnerable. It wasn’t pity that had him coming down his front steps, it was honest to goodness feelings. Of the romantical sort. He grabbed Derek’s’ clammy hand without a word and pulled into his house, onto the couch, into his lap, situating them until Derek’s head and back were resting heavily against his chest.

“I can’t do this if you keep things from me. I won’t. You can lie to whoever you want, do what you think you have to do to get scouted, but don’t lie to me,” he said into Derek’s hair.

Maybe he was too young to understand what he was getting into- maybe years of being someone’s secret was something his seventeen year old brain couldn’t properly understand- but there was one thing Stiles was sure of. He’d rather have Derek behind a closed door than not at all.

**Author's Note:**

> This was going to be a super long story with a secret relationship but i've been sitting on it for a year and i'm BORED and DRUNK so you can HAVE THIS NOW because it ends in a really good part.  
> Does a Part 2 exist in my head? Yes.  
> Will Part 2 ever exist on Ao3? WHO KNOWS  
> TAKE BETS
> 
> I hope you liked it I guess? Sorry for the unsatisfying ending


End file.
